


clap until your hands hurt

by sadrobotboy (bruisesandcontusions)



Category: Bandom
Genre: !!!, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character, everyone is trans/nonbinary it's great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisesandcontusions/pseuds/sadrobotboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>all's fair in love and fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clap until your hands hurt

**Author's Note:**

> i submitted [this](http://bandomtransheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/111022485981/au-where-agender-hayley-is-the-youngest-fashion) prompt to bandomtransheadcanons because i figured i would never write it; then i saw [this](http://contusions.co.vu/post/110985409547) picture and realised i had to. thank you so much to my amazing beta [eleana](http://itsbdenifyoudo.tumblr.com) for doing an amazingly speedy job, and to [will](http://willsparking.tumblr.com) for always being brilliant.
> 
> all the characters' pronouns are listed in the notes at the end of the fic, you may find it useful to look over them before reading.
> 
> disclaimer: i have never been to new york, i know almost nothing about fashion, and very little about paramore. but i am trans, so there's that.

To say that Mrs Williams was thrilled with her 17 year old flying cross-country to spend the entire summer before their senior year in New York City would be an overstatement. Even to say she was pleased with the arrangement would be pushing it a little. But never let it be said that she was not a parent who encouraged her children to achieve their dreams, and it was for this reason that with only a slightly heavy heart and a smile wide enough to disguise her nervous panic she was able to drop Hayley off at the airport at some ridiculous hour on a Thursday morning without clinging to them to stop them from leaving. 

“Mom is freaking out,” Hayley explains to Jeremy as they load their bags onto the luggage carousel. Jeremy snorts. 

“Yeah, I know. Honestly, it’s like she doesn’t trust me to look after you or something.” 

Hayley shakes their head as they make their way over to the terminal to wait. “She does trust you. I think she’s just worried she’s about to lose me to the big bad city or something.” Jeremy, who has known Christie Williams for over 10 years now, has to agree, but he also knows that Hayley isn’t keeping their cool quite as much as they’re pretending to. He wraps an arm around Hayley, who smiles only slightly shakily. 

“How long til our plane departs?” they ask, staring up at the information screens and trying to make sense of the text on the screen. 

“Half an hour. Get ready for the big bad city, kiddo.” 

// 

New York is big. That feels like a pretty obvious observation, but Hayley’s eyes are still the size of saucers as they look around at the skyscrapers and taxi cabs and “Oh my God, Jeremy, is that the Statue of Liberty?” 

The taxi driver turns around to grin at them, and Hayley reminds themself to stop acting like such a tourist. 

“It sure is, Miss. You planning on giving it a visit while you’re in New York?” Hayley looks at Jeremy with pleading eyes, and he laughs and shrugs. 

“Yep, definitely,” Hayley grins. They are technically here on business but whatever, they can definitely schedule in some sightseeing too. “And, er, I’m not a Miss. Or a Sir. Um, thanks.” 

The driver frowns at them, before shrugging, whatever, and pulling ahead of the silver car they’ve been tailing for the last half a mile. “Sure thing.” 

Hayley blinks, surprised it was that easy. Their heart beats faster at the thought that maybe they’re finally somewhere that their gender won’t make any difference, where their work will speak for them before their identity will. It’s nerve wracking and exciting and exactly what Hayley has always wanted. Jeremy smiles at them and Hayley nods, bobbing their head a little to the tune of the radio and staring out of the window enthralled at the famous landmarks flashing past until they reach the apartment. 

// 

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Hayley asks, prying once again at the hands over their face while Jeremy giggles. 

“Not yet! We’re almost there!” 

“This is ridiculous,” Hayley huffs, but they let Jeremy lead them up the stairs (and honestly it’s a good job they trust him so much because one wrong stop and they could break their neck, goddamnit) and down a corridor, round a corner, through a door, before finally letting them go. 

“Surprise!” 

Hayley blinks a couple of times, looking around the room and needing a minute or so to take it all in. The room is mostly bare, save for some chairs and mannequins, but there’s a whole wall of windows and the view is... wow. 

Hayley remembers suddenly why New York is hailed as a city of beauty, rather than just a city of street food and a permanent hot garbage smell. The glass and spires sparkle in the sunshine, and Hayley can feel something bright and slightly terrifying rising up through their chest. This is where they are meant to be. This is where they can find themselves. 

Hayley turns to Brendon and Ian and Greta, the assistant designers they hired in advance back in Tennessee, who are standing there grinning at Hayley like they can feel the same rush of emotion themselves, or at least can see it written all over Hayley’s face. 

“Fuck, guys” Hayley breathes, and the butterflies in their stomach can’t seem to stop spinning. “Fuck, we’re really doing this.” 

“We sure are,” says Jeremy, resting his hands on Hayley’s shoulders and spinning them around slowly. Above the doorway to the studio hangs a banner, and on it in Jeremy’s handwriting are the words ‘Hayley Williams’ Designs’. Hayley swallows hard past the lump in their throat. 

“Jerm...” 

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Brendon asks, and Greta hits him on the arm. Hayley shakes their head, even though they can feel their eyes begin to water just a little. 

“No,” they say firmly, spinning back around and clapping their hands together in a way they hope conveys leadership and determination, rather than brash uncertainty. “No, we’ve got work to do. Two months until Fashion Week, guys!” 

“Plenty of time,” Ian smiles and Hayley nods, biting their lip, and gets to work. 

// 

Industry parties are pretty much exactly what Hayley expected, in that they are full of either vapid and uninteresting people who can’t even be bothered to ask their name, or beautiful and fascinating people who look past them as if they don’t exist. On the upside, at least the buffet is usually good. 

It’s the third party that Hayley has attended in their first two weeks in New York, and they have to admit they’re getting ever so slightly desperate. Their contacts in the city have mostly worked out in terms of the fact that they now have Ian, Brendon, Greta, and (much to his supposed chagrin) Jeremy slaving away 10 hours a day to put together their designs, but they have approximately zero models for a show that is now just 6 weeks away. Every model in the city seems to have already been snatched up by other designers, and Hayley is kicking themselves a little for their lack of foresight, which feels indicative of their lack of experience. 

There’s a couple in the corner that they’ve noticed at a few of these events now, twisted into each other slightly in a way that suggests intimacy or simply obliviousness to how much they’re wrapped up in one another, arms resting in the crooks of elbows, fingers tapping gently against wrists. At any rate they look young, closer to Hayley’s age than anyone else in the room, and Hayley has been watching them for long enough to notice that they never accept any of the free champagne on offer and that they always go to the bathroom together. 

Hayley’s heading over before they can talk themself out of it. 

“Hey,” Hayley says, trying to sound cool and confident and not like they feel ridiculously out of place here. The one in the lilac summer dress looks up, eyes and smile wide in a way that seems just uncertain enough to make Hayley feel a little less nervous. “So, er, it seems like we’re the only ones not drinking here, huh?” 

The appraising look Hayley receives seems slightly searching, and Hayley hopes fervently that they are whatever these two are looking for. 

“Hey,” replies lilac dress eventually, nodding like Hayley has gained their approval. Hayley smiles hopefully. “I’m Spence, and this is Ryan,” the one in the black miniskirt finally looks up from their phone and gives Hayley a small wave, which is almost adorably awkward. 

“Nice to meet you,” Hayley nods and wonders if maybe these could be the first friends they make in New York. It would be nice, they think, to have someone to talk to other than Jeremy while they’re here. “If you don’t mind me asking, what pronouns do you both use?” 

Spence grins, huge and real and beautiful, and Hayley thinks, _shit_. 5 minutes in and they already want Spence to model for them. 

“I – she, her” Spence says, looking proud and a little nervous, “for both of us. How about you?” 

“They, them,” Hayley explains, smiling as well now. They wonder if it’s too early to start discussing business, if that’s another one of these weird fashion industry rules that they can never seem to get the hang of. Then they decide, _fuck it_. 

They need models, and the last thing they can afford to be right now is subtle. 

“Hey, I don’t suppose you two are already booked for fashion week?” 

Spence raises an eyebrow at them, then looks at Ryan, who tilts her head, narrowing her eyes, then shrugs. Spence’s face lights up. 

Professionalism, Hayley decides as they grin and pull Spence into a spontaneous hug, can go fuck itself. 

“You need more models?” Ryan asks once they’ve pulled away, leaving Spence looking slightly flustered. Her voice is slower and softer than Hayley had expected. 

Hayley nods. They don’t exactly want to seem desperate, but they figure it’s best to be honest. 

Ryan smiles at them slightly lopsidedly. “I know people; I can sort you out with that. It won’t cost too much either, not if I’m the one that calls them up.” 

“Wow, thank you, that’s too kind,” Hayley tells her, a little taken aback. Part of them can’t help but wonder if they’re being scammed in some way; there’s not enough small town trust in the world to convince them that things as fortunate this just _happen_ with no backlash or ulterior motives. 

“You don’t bullshit,” Ryan explains. “I like that.” 

Hayley smiles, a feeling of relief rushing through them that this is finally panning out. “All’s fair in love and fashion, right?” 

// 

“Our first models are arriving tomorrow,” Hayley informs Brendon on Wednesday. 

“Oh, cool!” Brendon says, only it comes out as more of an enthusiastic mumble through his mouthful of pins. 

“What are they called?” asks Greta from across the room where she’s meticulously arranging paper hearts and flowers along the bodice of an artfully ripped dress. 

It takes Hayley a minute to reply, as they’re busy concentrating on sewing together a pair of lycra shorts without accidentally flipping the entire garment inside out. When they’re able to get a hand free again, they pull the piece of paper Spence had given them out of their hoodie pocket, just to check the surnames. “Er, Spence Smith and Ryan Ross.” 

Brendon looks up sharply at that. “Ryan Ross? As in, former Clandestine Industries model Ryan Ross?” His voice is slipping into a higher pitch and his eyes are a little wide. Greta laughs, leaning towards Hayley conspiratorially. 

“Brendon used to jerk off over Clandestine magazines,” she stage-whispers. 

“Shut up, I did not!” Brendon splutters, even though he’s turned a startling shade of pink. Hayley laughs out loud, reaching down to turn off their sewing machine. 

“Well, she’s going to be here at 10 o’clock tomorrow for her first fitting so I’d like you to at least try and be punctual, okay? And Brendon?” 

“Hmm?” Brendon mutters, staring firmly down at the hem he’s been stitching, his cheeks still a little red. 

“Try not to scare her off, yeah?” 

“Whatever,” Brendon huffs as Ian giggles next to him, and Hayley just shakes their head knowingly. 

// 

Brendon thankfully doesn’t jump Ryan or anything equally embarrassing and/or unprofessional when she and Spence arrive the next day, but Hayley does notice him biting his lip and staring in a way that could kindly be described as obvious. 

Hayley gets everyone introduced and Brendon is practically bouncing on the spot by the time they get to him. 

“Brendon Urie,” he gushes, “big fan of both your work. I always thought that you guys belonged on more than an imprint label and honestly with Hayley –” 

“Brendon,” Ian says slightly warningly, “did you want to come help me get last week’s designs out of the store room?” 

“I – okay,” Brendon looks back mournfully as Ian pretty much drags him away, and pouts exaggeratedly at Hayley. 

Greta just rolls her eyes and starts about getting Spence to try on the skirt templates she had whipped up this morning in order to test for size. Now that they have two models to work with, they can start altering their designs to fit them, as well as finishing off the clothes that are currently still lying around the room as pieces of unpressed fabric. It means their workload is likely to increase tenfold, but Hayley isn’t too worried about that yet. Clothes, they can do. Designing and creating make sense to them in a way nothing else ever has. It’s the fashion industry itself that is still scarily complicated. 

“You, er, you mentioned other models?” Hayley asks while Ryan is sorting out her makeup in one of the wall to wall mirrors when the day is over, and she nods, smudging her eyeliner a little. “Were you thinking of anyone in particular?” 

“I can introduce you to Bill Beckett,” Ryan says with a smirk, and Hayley nods like they know what that means. 

“Xe’s a model,” Spence explains, buttoning up her shirt as she makes her way out of the hastily set up changing station. “It’s a running joke that xe knows everyone in the industry, and yet xe’s terrible with names.” 

Hayley notices Brendon loitering in the doorway, still shooting cartoon heart eyes at Ryan and decides it’s probably best to call it a day. “Sure,” they agree. “I’ll meet xem. It’s not like anyone else in New York wants to talk to me.” 

“Don’t worry,” Spence says, stealing Ryan’s lipstick. “Trust me, after your show, you’re all anybody’s gonna be talking about.” 

// 

“...And this is Hayley,” Ryan concludes, sounding a little breathless and overexcited in a way Hayley has never heard her before. 

Hayley takes the hand that’s extended out towards them and looks up... and then up further. Billie Beckett is _tall_ , and striking in a way that could never be boring, even in a room full of tall, beautiful models. Xe smiles down at them, bright and rather intimidating, and coos. 

“You’re so small” xe chirps, and Hayley raises an eyebrow at xem. 

“Just because I’m not some hulking giant doesn’t make me a child. Anyway, you can only be, what, 19?” 

“I’m 21, actually,” Billie corrects them, but xe stops to look at them appraisingly for a moment before flashing Ryan anther one of those shark-like smiles. 

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a feisty designer here, Ry.” 

Hayley is ready to tell xem where they’ll shove their feistiness in a moment, but when Billie addresses them again xyr face is serious. 

“I gotta be honest; I wasn’t too sure about this gig when Ryan told me about it. But I’ve done some research on you and, well, I’m impressed.” 

Hayley can feel the corners of their mouth twitching up at that, but they tell themselves fiercely to remain professional. “Not everyone gets their first fashion week show at 17, huh?” Billie continues. 

“Does that mean you’re in?” Hayley blurts out, unable to hold it in any more. Billie smirks, but xe’s nodding and Hayley can feel the smile spreading wide across their own face. 

“Sure thing,” Billie says, pulling out xyr phone and flipping it open. “I can get you in touch with plenty of other models, too, and at much shorter notice than any agency.” 

“I – thank you,” Hayley stammers, just a little flustered. Billie seems like xe has that effect on most people. 

“Just add it to my booking fee,” Billie flashes xyr teeth at Hayley again, not even bothering to look up from xyr phone screen. “Now how many other models do you need?” 

Hayley thinks. Spence, Ryan, Billie... it’s hardly an extensive list by any means, but their show is only scheduled to last 10 minutes anyway, and even their generous grant from the Arts Council can only stretch so far. “Three.” 

“Okay, that’s fine.” Billie is already turning away, xyr phone clutched to xyr ear, but xe turns back to shake Hayley’s hand again swiftly. “Nice meeting you, Mx. Williams.” 

After xe’s been sucked into the crowds of beautiful people once again, Ryan leans forward to whisper in Hayley's ear. “Isn’t xe amazing?” Her eyes are wide and slightly dreamy, and Hayley snorts. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess xe kind of is. Now come on, let’s go find somewhere they serve real food.” 

// 

William shows up to the studio the next day with a name badge on xyr lapel and three equally giant individuals in tow. Hayley has decided to resign themself to being the shortest person in the industry, if not in the whole of New York, by this point. Spence and Ryan also arrive with them, but Hayley sees Brendon rush over to the two of them, starry-eyed, the moment they arrive, and they roll their eyes affectionately. 

Gabe has bright eyes and a sharp smile, but ve nods seriously while Hayley explains their ideas and inspirations, and takes great care while examining the outfits on display. 

“I’m a fashion critic,” ve explains, picking carefully at the layers of chiffon extending from one of the skirts. “I don’t usually model any more, but William persuaded me it was for a good cause. I can’t give you any free publicity, though, sorry. Nothing personal, it’s just business.” 

Ve looks back at Hayley, who swallows hard and nods. It suddenly hits them that they are the youngest person in the room, and probably the only one that hasn’t even attended fashion week before. They find themself leaning involuntarily towards Jeremy, who rests a reassuring hand on their shoulder, squeezing slightly. 

“Don’t worry,” Vicky tells them when Gabe goes off for initial alterations (Greta raises her eyebrows at vir long legs and mutters something about ordering extra fabric, which makes Ian laugh.) “Gabe’s always like that, but ve’s all talk. It looks to me like you’re doing just fine.” 

“Really?” Hayley asks, unable to keep the uncertainty out of their voice. 

“Absolutely,” William says from where xe’s letting Ian take xyr inside leg measurements. “I wouldn’t have asked these guys to come along if I didn’t believe in your collection. And Ryan sure as hell wouldn’t have contacted me if she didn’t think you had something special going on here.” 

Ryan’s ears turn pink at that, and Hayley notices Brendon frowning at her, but Vicky nods and even Mikey (who doesn’t exactly seem like the talkative type) looks up from xyr phone and smiles at Hayley until they smile back. 

“Thanks guys,” Hayley says, reaching for a tape measure and pair of fabric cutters with a newfound determination, trying not to show how anxious they are to impress. This is their one chance to break into New York fashion week, to prove to the industry and the world that their age can’t hold them back from doing anything. More than that, though, they have a team now. The last thing they want to do it let them down. “Okay, let’s get to work.” 

Jeremy smiles at them, and Hayley grips their scissors a little tighter. If fashion is a battlefield, they’ve got an armada to prepare. 

// 

Another night, another party, and frankly Hayley is exhausted. They’ve spent the entire week slaving over the final piece in their collection, and their sleeping schedule has definitely taken a toll. With less than a month left until fashion week the workload never seems to decrease, and Hayley knows their own stress levels have been rising. It’s only at Gabe’s insistence that they’re here at all – supposedly to “stake out the enemy” at the pre-week launch party – but they can barely stop themselves from yawning into their fist every 5 minutes. 

“Bored already?” 

Hayley pulls themself out of their own wishful thoughts of bubble baths and falling asleep before 2 am, to see that someone with artfully rumpled black hair and a 3000 dollar suit is smirking at them. 

“Oh, hey – no, I, um,” Hayley stammers, blinking at the hand that’s extended towards them before remembering to shake it. 

“Pete Wentz,” Pete continues, leaning in slightly too close for comfort or necessity. “He, her pronouns. Head designer at Clandestine.” 

Hayley can still feel the nagging urge to fall asleep right now in the back of their brain, but they’ve got enough of their wits about them to smile politely. 

“Hayley. Williams. They, them. I’ve recently started up a label called Hayley Williams’ Designs?” 

Pete smiles again, and it doesn’t look particularly friendly. “Oh, I know that. News of your babygenius has been spreading far and wide.” 

Hayley frowns a little at that, but they’re determined to remain civil. Contacts, they tell themself firmly, are important. They’re pretty sure Gabe said something about that. 

“Well, I’m glad to know someone other than my mom has heard about what I do.” 

Pete leans in further, so that Hayley can smell her cologne, and they take an involuntary step backwards only to hit the wall. He looks like he’s about to say something, when suddenly a voice cuts over their conversation. 

“Hey Hayley, is this creep bothering you?” 

Pete’s eyes flash with something unreadable when he looks up at Billie, but her smile is still fixed in place. “Bilvy! Long time, no see. Now, I know the work’s being drying up with all these new kids around, but indie labels are certainly a brave new step, huh?” 

“Like you didn’t know I was already booked, Wentz,” Billie all but growls. “Got your finger on every pulse from here to LA, don’t you?” Xyr eyebrows are drawn together, and xe looks angry for the first time since Hayley has known xem. They feel a little nervous, trapped between the twin fronts of hostility and insincerity. 

“I’m gonna go grab a glass of water,” Haley says, half-surprised their words don’t burn up in the waves of tension sparking between Pete and Billie. 

“Good idea,” Billie responds after a moment, dropping xyr gaze immediately and turning away as if xe’s already forgotten Pete is there. 

“Nice seeing you both,” Pete calls after them, and Billie tightens xyr grip around Hayley’s wrist. 

“What was that all about?” Hayley asks once they’re on the other side of the room, having regrouped with Brendon and Victoria. They appreciate the thought and all, but Pete hadn’t seemed anything worse than a little sleazy and, hey, they are capable of protecting themself, thank you. 

“That,” hisses Billie, even though Pete is now long gone, “was Pete Wentz.” Vicky’s eyes widen at that, and Brendon’s mouth closes around an ‘ohhhh’. Hayley wonders what the hell they’re missing. “He has an 11:10 slot in the tents on the same day as your show, and he’s only your biggest crowd rival.” 

Hayley’s stomach drops. Up until now they had almost forgotten that fashion week was more than a showcase, that it was a competition, that all the other designers they’ve seen or made awkward chit-chat with have all had a battle strategy planned months in advance. They feel ridiculously naïve all of a sudden, and they bite down on their lip, hard. 

“Yeah,” Billie says when xe spots their expression, and it’s clear xe’s still a little rattled, xyr eyes darting around the room as if to check no one is eavesdropping. “This shit is serious, kid. Your designs don’t mean anything if nobody comes to see them.” 

“Leave them alone, Bill,” Vicky admonishes, but her voice is sloppy from the free champagne and Hayley shrugs off the arm she tries to wrap around them. Billie is right. Hayley can’t afford to keep acting like this is some high school fashion show any more. This is business. 

They think of the half-finished LBD on the side in the studio and shake their head angrily. The clothes aren’t enough anymore. If they want to stand a chance of pulling a crowd, they’re going to need something _spectacular_. 

// 

“Beckett’s hated Pete for years,” Ryan explains, kicking her legs back and forth from where she’s perched on the edge of the desk. 

“Stop that,” Ian tells her and Ryan straightens up to help him as he laces up her bodice. 

“Anyway, xe probably wouldn’t trust her further than xe can throw her, so it’s no wonder xe got all pissy when xe saw you talking to her. But it’s true he is your biggest rival.” 

“Great,” Hayley sighs, letting their head drop forward onto the desk. “So basically anyone who could possibly have had a passing interest in viewing my collection is now almost certain to pass it up in favour of seeing a far more experienced and actually well-known designer? Yeah, that’s just fucking great.” 

“You don’t know that’s true,” Ian pipes up, straightening up and passing Ryan a pair of heels to slip on. “Critics love checking out new talent. You’re the youngest designer at fashion week ever – that’s a pretty damn good USP right there.” 

“Exactly!” Ryan agrees. “Oh, and have you had any thoughts about who you’re gonna get to do stage and lighting?” 

Hayley groans and knocks their forehead hard against the desk. They knew there was something they had forgotten, goddamnit. “Fuck! No. No, I forgot.” So much for spectacular if all they’re going to have is a bare catwalk and floodlights. 

Ryan reaches over and strokes their orange hair, and it’s so unusually intimate for her that Hayley feels strangely honoured. “Don’t worry, Mikey knows someone. Two someones. It’ll all get sorted by Friday, okay?” 

“Mmmhmm,” Hayley mumbles into the desktop. 

“Hayley?” They lift their head slightly, their gaze meeting Ryan’s large, earnest eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

“Pete’s an asshole. Half the industry knows that, and I’ll tell those that do that if they want an alternative to brash egotism they should check you out, okay?” Hayley manages a half-smile, and starts to think about sitting upright again at some point in the next half an hour. 

“Okay.” 

// 

Gerard is a pale, eager guy with a slightly manic smile and a shock of black hair that seems to have at least three different types of paint in it. Hayley can’t quite see the resemblance to Mikey at first, but both their eyes light up as Hayley describes their pop-art inspired comic book theme, and Hayley almost has to laugh at the sudden similarity. Gerard starts making sketches immediately, talking nine to the dozen about Jack Kirby and poster paint and possibly vampires, while Hayley turns to smile amusedly at Ray. 

Ray’s taller and seems far more placid than Gerard; a welcome contrast to the panic that has been setting into the whole team recently with fashion week drawing ever closer. He nods and runs a hand through his hair and occasionally makes notes as Hayley explains their vision. 

“How long before we can move into the gallery?” he asks eventually, and Hayley sighs and screws up their face a little in annoyance. 

“Not until next week,” they explain, slightly mournfully. “Will that give you enough time?” 

Ray checks his notes again then nods, smiling brightly. “Yeah, sure, I’ve worked on a much tighter schedule before. But, hey, what about music? Have you decided on a playlist yet?” 

“I was kind of hoping to get a live band,” Hayley admits. “I was thinking it would add to the punk aesthetic of the show?” 

Ray scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I mean you’re in New York. It’s full of bands. The only trouble is that all of the ones worth paying will have had the next few weeks booked months in advance.” 

“Me and Ian have a band!” Brendon pipes up from where he’s helping Gerard set up a makeshift runway using chairs and sewing machines, interrupting Hayley’s sinking heart. 

“Really?” they ask, looking over towards Ian, who seems slightly scandalised but more than a little hopeful. “Just the two of you?” 

Brendon shakes his head “No, we’re a whole band. We play pop punk and stuff?” 

Hayley looks around the studio, at the mess that Gerard is still creating in the centre, all the piles of fabric and buttons and neatly pressed clothes covering every surface, the sloppy writing of the banner still hung over the door. 

“Sure,” they shrug, “why not? You’ve got yourself a gig, Urie.” 

Brendon’s eyes widen, like he didn’t honestly believe Hayley would take him up on the offer. “You mean it?” 

“Yep,” Hayley grins. “You’d better be damn good, though!” 

Brendon grins and practically jumps on Hayley to hug them, then moves onto Ian, who looks like he’s not entirely sure what just happened. “Don’t worry, we are,” he promises Hayley, who just laughs and turns back to Ray. 

“Think you can sound tech for them?” 

Ray looks a little taken aback. “Is he always like that?” Hayley nods sympathetically, and Ray buries his face in his hands. “God help me.” 

Hayley laughs. 

// 

“So, Hayley, is it true that you and Pete Wentz of Clandestine Industries are in the midst of a vicious fashion week rivalry given your overlapping time slots?” Hayley sighs, and reminds themself not to shout expletives down the phone. They bend down to pick up another box of clothes, trapping their phone between their ear and their shoulder. Choosing the day they moved into the gallery to start answering interview requests was such a bad idea. Fucking Gabe, and vir insistence that they needed to ‘raise their public profile’. 

“No. I actually met Pete the other week and he seems like a great designer, and far too professional to take part in such a petty feud. I wish her the best of luck with her collection, and I’m sure he does the same.” William snorts at that, and Hayley flips xem off. 

“Riiiight,” mutters the reporter on the other end of the line, and there’s a noise like they’re typing something up. “And how does it feel being the youngest designer ever to have a fashion week show? Just a 17 year old girl, ready to take on the world...” 

“I’m not a girl,” Hayley interrupts, and the reporter coughs, sounding a little embarrassed. 

“Ah, yes, right. You’re – er – what are you again?” 

“I’m agender,” Hayley explains through gritted teeth. It’s not the first time they’ve had to explain their identity since they moved to New York, but the last thing they feel like doing is trying to tell this gossip hungry reporter why the gender binary doesn’t exist. “I use they, them, theirs pronouns. I don’t identify as male or female, I wasn’t ‘born a boy’, and, no, I’m not confused. I’m just a designer who creates gender neutral clothes that anyone can wear because they’re pretty and because assigning genders to clothes is ridiculous. I know I’m the youngest person there, but that’s probably because I’m really damn good at what I do. Thank you for your time.” 

They practically throw their phone on their makeshift desk after they hang up, their blood still boiling slightly. Their breathing feels loud in the cavernous space of the gallery floor, the arched ceilings reflecting their voice back at them. 

“Well that went spectacularly well,” comments William from across the room. Xe’s helping Brendon and Gerard paint a large posterboard in a particularly vibrant shade of magenta, and Hayley doesn’t even have the energy to laugh or yell at xem. 

“Whatever,” they sigh, flopping down into a chair. “It’s not like a 200 word article on some shitty blog was gonna get me a million new fans anyway.” Running a finger over the mouse pad of their laptop, they wait for the modem to fire back up and are immediately directed back to their Google mentions – their last search before the reporter had rung. There’s not much beyond the publicity that came when their show was first announced, but more than a few gossip sites seem to be running the story about Hayley and Pete’s supposed feud. “Why does anyone care?” they ask the room in general, and Gabe stops behind them, peering at their screen in interest. 

“Because, you’re both young, more interesting than the emeritus, well-known enough to be worth an article but not enough for it to be old news already. Besides, the industry loves nothing more than gossip, you know that.” 

“Fair enough,” Hayley sighs, opening up a new tab in her browser window to get away from the articles. “They could at least get my pronouns right, though.” 

Gabe frowns at that, reaching into vir pocket and passing them a piece of paper and a pen that doesn’t look too chewed at the end. “Write down whichever sites misgendered you. I’ll tell them to change the pronouns or delete the articles, or I’m sure they’ll be interested to see what I have to say about their editors’ fashion choices on my blog this week.” 

Hayley smiles a little, impressed, and Victoria grins at them. 

“Gabe’s been doing this shit for years,” she explains. “Ve’s the most jaded 25 year old I know, but ve won’t let anyone misgender vir friends.” 

Friends. The word sounds almost alien, outside of this world of business and competition that Hayley has found themself wrapped up in of late. They smile for real this time, and ignore their phone when it starts to ring again as they pull up an online party store, even though they can feel Gabe glaring pointedly at them. 

Victoria nudges them amicably with an elbow then lets Ian drag her away for a final fitting. 

// 

Brendon is hanging all over Ryan again, laughing at something she says and then resting his head on her shoulder and grabbing at her hand to squeeze it tightly. Hayley has been watching them with amusement for the past five minutes, amazed at how Ryan is able to just keep talking to Gerard as if she doesn’t even notice Brendon clinging to her. 

“Be honest,” Hayley mutters as Spence walks past, and she turns to them, raising an eyebrow. “Is Ryan trying to let Brendon down gently, or is she really that oblivious? Because I know she’s not always the most observant person ever, but surely she must have realised Brendon’s pretty much in love with her, right?” 

Spence laughs. “He is kinda head over heels, huh?” she quips, rolling her eyes at the way Brendon is whispering in Ryan’s ear, leaning in close and nuzzling at her hair just a little. “But, no, Ryan’s not that oblivious. I think a better term for it would be smitten.” 

“Really?” Hayley asks, surprised. Ryan seems - at best - tolerant of Brendon’s constant jokes and cuddling, pushing him away gently whenever he gets too clingy while she’s halfway through a fitting. Hayley never would have guessed the feelings were returned. 

“Oh yeah,” Spence smirks, still staring at Ryan like she can see something there that no one else can. “Just wait and you’ll see.” 

Hayley watches as Ryan finally gives Brendon the attention he’s been clamouring for, turning toward him and wrapping a delicate arm around his waist, and they can practically see Brendon exhale all the nervous energy in his body, smiling happily at Ryan and pressing up closer to her side. Ryan beams wide, her face lighting up in a way she doesn’t let herself show very often, and Hayley can see exactly what Spence means. 

“Spence, do you want me to zip you up?” Greta asks, and Hayley shakes their head a little, clearing it of everything but the final design they’re still working on with barely two weeks left. They want to do something totally different with it, something that will still match their collection, but that won’t let anyone who sees it forget their name. 

Jeremy says they’re trying too hard, every time they return back to the apartment at 3 am covered in glue gun residue and loose threads, but Hayley is determined. Pete Wentz or no Pete Wentz, theirs will be a runway show not to be missed. It has to be. 

// 

Objectively, Hayley knew that the pre-week shows must be approaching soon, but it’s not until Jeremy points at the red scribble on the calendar that they realise how much it has crept up on them. 

Everyone in their team goes a little manic at first, frantically planning how much of the collection they should show and whether the changes have been practised enough and is it too late for Ray to arrange a new light display for 3 days’ time? (Ray laughs and says that yes, it is, but he’ll give it a damn good go anyway.) Hayley hates feeling rushed, and they’re cursing at themself for letting something so important slip their mind even as they arrive at the Lincoln Centre with Jeremy in tow. 

As the least experienced designer at fashion week, Hayley is opening up the Fresh Blood showcase on Saturday morning, but tonight is when the biggest names in fashion will be giving everyone a glimpse of their newest collections, and no one wants to miss it. As a result, the tents are full of everyone who means anything to the industry – models, critics, designers and celebrities, and Hayley has to stop themself from staring at a few of the faces they walk past. 

“Was that Kirsten Stewart?” asks Jeremy just as Hayley locates Gabe and Mikey and begins dragging him towards them, and even he sounds suitably impressed. “Do you think I ought to have dressed up more?” 

“Jeremy, my man!” Gabe cries, pulling him in for an air kiss before holding him away to examine his outfit with a critical eye. “I like the Slayer shirt! Very low key, and a nice ‘fuck you’ to the fashion establishment, right?” 

“Really?” Jeremy asks, looking down at himself 

“No,” Gabe admits, and grins. “But it’s got to be more comfortable than these heels.” 

Hayley spots Pete Wentz across the room from them just as he looks up and catches Hayley’s eye, shooting them a wide grin. “Watch out, here comes trouble.” Gabe notices Pete approaching and narrows vir eyes. 

“Mikey,” ve mutters warningly, and Mikey looks up just as Pete comes to a halt beside Hayley. 

“Well if it isn’t my favourite mini superstar!” he begins, and then he seems to notice the others as well. Her smile wavers as he spots Mikey, and he looks a little taken aback. “I – hi, Mikey. I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

Mikey blinks, hard, and xyr face seems even more expressionless than usual, xyr eyes blank as xyr mouth presses into a firm, tight line. “Hey Pete.” 

Hayley looks between the two of them, confused, then at Jeremy, who just shrugs. 

“You doing well?” asks Pete, and her voice is strained. 

Mikey shrugs, the lines of xyr shoulders tense, and xe seems to be avoiding Pete’s eyes. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Pete’s mouth turns down at the corners as he nods slowly, watching Mikey for a beat too long before turning away. “Nice to see you again, Hayley. Good luck with the show tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” Hayley replies, still uncertain what the hell just happened as Pete moves onto some other industry name in the room. It’s Jeremy who eventually breaks through the awkward silence that has descended upon the group, clearing his throat and glancing at Hayley. 

“Hey Mikey, you wanna go get a drink?” Mikey nods a little too enthusiastically and follows Jeremy to the refreshments table with the expression of someone who would rather be anywhere else right now. 

“What was up with those two?” Hayley asks once they’ve gone, and Gabe shakes vir head a little, like ve doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Best not to ask. 3 seasons ago Mikey was Pete’s catwalk date, now they can’t even talk to each other.” 

“Wow, that’s kinda sad,” Hayley frowns, watching Pete mingle through the crowd, flashing her fake smile at everyone he sees. 

Gabe snorts derisively. “Fashion is business. You don’t mix work with pleasure, everyone knows that.” 

Hayley thinks about Brendon and Ryan, the way they somehow fit together and yet still leave room for Spence to wrap an arm around Ryan and roll her eyes at the pair of them. “Yeah, well that’s easy for an aromantic to say.” 

Gabe smirks, raising vir arms in mock-defence. “Okay, you caught me. But just... there’s a reason Mikey doesn’t talk about Pete, okay? Best leave that shit in the past.” 

Hayley nods. They know better than to meddle with old history, especially when it’s not their business. 

“Come on,” Gabe says, watching the crowds as though observing migration patterns, “the show’s about to start. Don’t want anyone to steal your third row seat, do you?” 

// 

In retrospect, Saturday morning is doomed from the start. Not only have the models only had a few days to practise on the new runway, which looks too sparse and empty for the vibrancy of the collection as they had to leave most of their set pieces back at the gallery, there is the small problem that Hayley had _completely forgotten_ this was happening. As a result there has been no publicity, no way of letting anyone they know in this city (which, when they think about it, is mostly just the dozen or so people on their team with them) that the show is happening, nothing but blind panic and a creeping feeling that this could be ominously reflective of their real show next week. 

The frantic rush of last minute preparations keep Hayley occupied for the better part of the hours leading up to the start of the showcase. They don’t have time to think about anything other than their designs and their models and is Brendon _sure_ he didn’t leave anything back at the gallery because they can’t find their unpicker _anywhere_ and they need it _right the fuck now_. 

It’s only when Ray arrives to pick up a roll of duct tape and catches sight of them wrestling desperately with a large silk number that refuses to remain ruffled in the right places, that Hayley agrees to take the break he insists upon, grabbing a bottle of water and heading over to the curtain dividing the frantic mess of backstage with the cool collectedness of the fashion week tent. 

“Um, Hayley,” says Greta uncertainly as they approach, her face slightly pinched as she bites her lip. “You might not wanna...” 

Hayley tugs back the curtain just a little to view the audience, and feels their heart turn to ice. 

“There’s no one there,” they whisper, and Greta turns to them, her eyes wide and sympathetic. 

“Hayley...” 

“There’s no one there!” Hayley repeats, letting the curtain drop and trying desperately hard not to cry or scream. 

“There’s a few people...” William starts, but Hayley’s eyes are blazing with a mix of shame and fury, and xe knows better than to continue. 

“No one cares, do they?” they ask the room in general, and their eyes meet Spence’s, wide and sharp with something closer to hurt than pity. Hayley laughs hollowly. “Why should they?” 

Why should anyone care about some kid’s fresh out of high school collection when they’re surrounded by the greatest designers the world has to offer? How could Hayley have been so naïve, so _stupid_ , to assume that they mattered in a city that couldn’t care less who they are? 

They could swear they hear a voice calling after them as they turn away, doing their best not to break out into a sprint as they head towards the bathroom, but if they do then they don’t reply. 

// 

The show itself apparently goes without a hitch: the changes are timed pretty much perfectly and Brendon’s band doesn’t fuck up the models’ timing, even as their heeled steps echo in the half-empty tent. Even the glitter gun shootout finale – another Gerard idea that at the time Hayley had thought was genius – goes smoothly, adding to the shiny lace of Vicky and Gabe’s matching mini dresses. 

Hayley, however, is too busy hiding backstage and trying not to throw up to witness any of this first hand. Jeremy finds them after the show, curled up behind a rack of coats, and asks, softly, if they want to take a bow. Hayley shakes their head fiercely, and Jeremy nods, pulling them to their feet and wrapping an arm around their shoulders carefully. 

No one tries to speak to them as they leave, and Hayley can’t make eye contact with any of them, grateful for the fact that Jeremy leads them straight out to the carpark instead of making them face the ten or so people who actually bothered to show up. They think of Pete Wentz’s smirking face and all the reporters they’ve hung up on in the last fortnight, and they convulse with a shudder of nausea as they wait for a taxi to arrive. 

// 

It’s only when they get back to the apartment that Hayley lets themself fall apart. They hadn’t even realised how much they were shaking until now, their hands balled into fists and their breathing rapidfire and icy in their chest. 

They collapse the moment the door is closed, curling into themself while Jeremy holds them close, petting their hair and whispering nonsense words while they shake with silent sobs. For several minutes Hayley can’t even speak, too busy gulping back tears while Jeremy kindly ignores the fact that they’re probably getting snot all over him. 

“I can’t do this, Jerm.” 

Hayley thinks they probably look pretty pathetic right now, crying on the kitchen floor with their face buried into Jeremy’s shoulder. They’re intensely grateful for the arm that he wraps around them, for the softness of his cotton shirt against their skin, for the way he rubs their back to remind them to breathe. 

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asks, but his voice is soft, not accusatory. “Today went well, Hayley!” 

Hayley looks up at him scornfully at that, but he stares them down just as persistently, years of practise arguing with them finally paying off. “Look, so less people showed up than we’d have liked. But did any of the models fall over?” 

“No,” Hayley grudgingly admits, and lets Jeremy pull them closer. 

“Did any of the lights explode?” 

“No.” 

“And did your designs look amazing?” Hayley bites their lip and looks down at the kitchen floor uncertainly, tracing the line of the tile with the toe of their sneaker. Jeremy sighs quietly. “Yes, they did, okay. Hayley?” 

Hayley looks up at him, wiping at their eyes furiously, and suddenly they feel so young. “Hayley, your collection is brilliant. Your team all loves you, not just because you’re the best tempered boss of all time, but because we _believe in you_.” 

Hayley remembers William saying something like that, back what now feels like years ago, and they force a weak attempt at a smile. Jeremy grins and presses a kiss to their forehead, letting Hayley lean against his shoulder once again. “You can’t give up now, kiddo. We’re all depending on you.” 

Hayley smiles and picks at the hole in the sleeve of his Slayer shirt. “Yeah?” 

“Mmm-hmmm. Who else is gonna show Pete Wentz who’s boss, huh?” 

This time when Hayley laughs, it doesn’t feel forced at all. 

// 

Hayley’s alarm goes off at 5 am and they reach for it with a low grunting moan, not bothering to open their eyes against the ungodly hour. After silencing the incessant beeping through touch alone, they flop back against the mattress and wonder why the hell they have to be up this early. The final alterations have all been made, the show has been rehearsed a million times over, all that’s left to do is count down the days until... 

“Shit!” Hayley throws back the covers and scrambles out of bed, their head suddenly whirling. “Shit fucking bugger shit fuck!” 

“Hayley?” Jeremy pokes his head through the door, looking concerned. His usually neatly straightened hair is a mess and Hayley has to supress a slightly hysterical giggle. 

“It’s today, Jeremy,” they half-whisper, before clutching their hands to their face as a wave of nausea washes through them. “Fuck, Jeremy, the show is _today_.” 

“I know,” Jeremy says quietly, moving slowly into the room as though trying not to spook a horse. Given the high levels of stress Hayley has been exhibiting all week, they figure it’s probably understandable behaviour. “I’m going to make us some breakfast while you get dressed, okay? Gabe’s arranged for a car to pick us up at six.” 

Hayley nods, feeling suddenly rather detached, as though they are watching the conversation pan out from somewhere a few feet above their own head. It’s strangely relaxing. Jeremy looks at them, worried again. “Are you okay, kiddo?” 

“I’m fine,” Hayley insists, and their own voice sounds slightly too far away. Jeremy doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and turns away, leaving Hayley trying their best not to freak the fuck out. 

// 

Their anti-freaking out mentality still seems to be working two hours later when the models show up at the gallery, Victoria brimming with news about how many industry reps have claimed to be interested in viewing the collection while Gabe remains unusually quiet, looking strangely pleased with virself. Hayley helps them practice the changes in a haze of oddly blank calm, and really only Gerard seems anywhere near as nervous as they rightfully should be feeling right now, flitting back and forth to add the finishing touches to the runway while Mikey and Ray look on in amusement. 

Hayley would honestly be worried about their own newfound serenity if they weren’t so damn busy – how can there still be so many jobs left over when they’ve had two months to prepare? It’s only the brush of Jeremy’s fingers across their shoulder, the sound of Billie and Gabe’s babbling voices, the flash of Spence’s reassuring smile that reminds them where they are, what they’re meant to be doing, and they’ve never felt so grateful for their team before. 

Hayley’s show is scheduled to start at 11, and it’s with less than half an hour to go that they can feel the panic finally setting in. This is it. Their one chance to show the fashion industry what they’re made of and Hayley’s brain feels like it’s going into meltdown. What if no one shows up? What if there’s a terrible accident with the grand finale and Billie ends up burning to death? What if the entire show has actually been cancelled and no one thought to tell them? What if...? 

“Hayley?” 

Hayley looks up from where they’ve been stitching and restitching the same button for the past ten minutes, and sees Mikey, of all people, smiling tentatively down at them. “Er, Gerard wants us all to do a group handshake? It’s kind of their thing and it’ll make them sad if we don’t, so. Yeah.” 

Hayley huffs out a small laugh, and nods to show they appreciate what Mikey is trying to do, that xyr presence and placid reassurance is enough to begin calming them down. They carefully pick up the suit they’ve been working on, gathering up the material in both arms as they give one final look over the runway. 

The chairs have been set up on either side of the catwalk; it was Gerard’s idea to install couches and bean bags in a variety of primary colours, and Hayley has to admit it fits well with the vibrant futurism of the set itself – all comic book cutouts and glitter, as bright as Hayley’s hair but stylish enough to not be childish. The sliding doors that lead onto the runway are painted with a pair of Lichtenstein style eyes that gradually blur into pixels as Hayley walks towards them, heading for the backstage area where their team are waiting for them. Mikey holds back the curtain for them, and Hayley smiles at xem, taking a deep breath to calm themselves down. 

“Hayley!” cries Greta the moment she sees them, pulling them into a hug and pretending not to notice when Hayley clings a little. 

“Well,” Gabe begins, clapping vir hands together purposefully, “now that we’re all together, I want to say how much of a pleasure it has been working with you all. This has certainly been a new and insightful experience for me, and I’m certain...” 

“Save the speeches til after the show, Saporta,” Hayley quips, brash over their own bubbling nerves. “You don’t even know if anyone will show up yet!” 

Gabe smirks knowingly again, and glances at Vicky who just shakes her head. “Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Hayley frowns. 

“How can you possibly be so certain that –” 

“Guys!” Greta says, glancing up at the clock on the wall, “the show is meant to be starting right now and you’re arguing about audience capacity?” 

“Relax, Salpeter,” Billie tells her, even as xe is reaching to rearrange xyr hair for the fifteenth time since Ian had styled it. “It wouldn’t be fashion week if the show didn’t start at least ten minutes late.” 

Hayley shakes their head a little, determined to get down to business. “No, she’s right. We need to be fully prepared if we want to do this right – there’s too many things that could go wrong if we’re not paying attention.” Thankfully no one mentions that the biggest deciding factor as to the success of the show is completely out of their hands. Hayley feels a lump beginning to build in their throat. “And I guess all that’s left to say is, well, thank you, guys. For everything. I’ll see you all on the other side, okay?” 

The models, the stylists, the assistant designers, all Hayley’s new friends, the strange little family they’ve cobbled together in this city so full of lights and people; they’re all smiling and nodding and Hayley knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is all they need. They’ve put everything they have into this show, and everyone here knows it. No matter if not a single audience member arrives, that is still enough. 

On stage, they hear Brendon’s band strike up with their first song, and prepare for the chaos to descend. 

// 

To say the show passes in a blur for Hayley would not be entirely true. In fact, at the time every second seems to last an hour, desperately zipping up and sliding off one outfit after another, throwing around lipstick tubes and water bottles and safety pins to whoever is looking around with wide, frantic eyes, trying desperately just to remember which song, which outfit, which model comes next. There’s a monitor backstage that Ian appears to be watching over, but Hayley barely has time to glance at it for more than a second, too busy fixing hair and pinning hems that had to pick the very last second to fall down. 

The only time the reality of it all finally hits them is as they’re carefully arranging the shoulder pads of Billie’s dress – the final masterpiece that took them a week of sleepless nights to finally complete. “Remember not to lean too far to the left when you pose,” Hayley tells xem, and it hits them, suddenly, that this isn’t a practise run any more. There is an audience out there, viewing their creations, and every single one of them is a critic. 

“Not a high school fashion show,” they mutter to themselves, and Billie raises an eyebrow at them, confused. Hayley shakes their head and then Mikey appears through the curtain and Hayley’s pushing at Billie, telling xem to “Go, go, go!” 

Hayley squeezes their eyes shut, terrified that they’ll have miscalculated something or Billie will take a misstep and the gallery is about to be set on fire, but then Victoria is shaking at them, pulling them over to the monitor and whisper-screaming “Oh my God, Hayley, you've got to see this!” 

Hayley can’t hear any anguished screaming or burning noises, so they figure it’s probably safe for them to open their eyes. Through the monitor screen they can see the crackling lights of Billie’s dress and they flicker and spark, and as xe strikes a pose at the end of the runway another round of fireworks shoots out from the shoulder patches, Billie turning xyr head exactly as Hayley had instructed xem to in order to avoid xyr hair bursting into flames. The audience gasps and applauds and Hayley feels their heart expand with pride as the red and gold sparks fly down from the ceiling. 

“They like it,” they whisper, and Vicky grins at them, nodding. 

“Hey, kiddo, it’s your big moment coming up,” says Jeremy, appearing from behind the curtain and pulling Hayley along to the back of the stage. His voice is gruff but his eyes are bright and Hayley wonders if he’s been crying. Haley wraps him up in a hug, feeling suddenly small and scared and more alive than they’ve ever been in their life. Jeremy clings to them for a moment, before pulling back, his face serious. “Come on, you can’t keep your adoring fans waiting.” 

The sliding doors pull back and Billie glides through them, stopping to catch xyr breath only once they slide shut again, coughing a little at the smoke from the fireworks but shooting Hayley a thumbs up. “Get out there and do your thing, designer.” 

Hayley’s heart is beating twice as fast inside their chest as they step forwards, and they cross their fingers hard. They know there are more people out there than before, they’ve been hearing them clap politely over the monitor for the last 10 minutes, but the events of last week keep replaying over and over in their mind as the doors slide open once more. 

The lights are blinding as Hayley steps out on the catwalk, and they can already hear the applause but they can’t see anyone as they cautiously make their way onto the runway. Bob lowers the spotlight, and Hayley blinks over at him gratefully as the audience comes into view, before their mouth drops open with shock. 

The gallery is packed – every seat in the house as far as Hayley can see is full, and they even recognise several faces on the front row: people who surely have no business being here when the Clandestine show is happening _right now_. Hayley gulps and looks around wildly for a second as the cheering dies down, unable to take it all in. 

“I – thank you,” they begin, and their voice is thankfully loud enough to carry through the room, if a little wobbly. 

“Thank you so much to all of you for coming. It means the world to me to know that you cared enough about the work me and my team do and the clothes we create to come see us. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Their words have all dried up as they scan the crowd once again, and Brendon’s band breaks back out into song, giving them time to take a bow before they can scamper back down the runway and through the doors to where Jeremy is waiting for them. 

They’re shaking a little again, and no matter how much they move their mouth, no words seem to be coming out. Jeremy hugs them close, and then their entire team is descending on them, dragging them back behind the curtain and regaling them with hugs and praise. It’s all slightly overwhelming, and Hayley’s head is swirling a little, the fact that the show is over already not quite having hit them yet. 

“Hey,” Greta whispers when everyone is distracted by Billie’s retelling of the firework dress ( _“the audience’s faces, man, you should have seen it!”_ ), “you wanna get out of here?” 

Hayley nods, quickly, and Greta leads them out into the main gallery, where everyone who doesn’t have somewhere more important to be is still milling around, exchanging air kisses and chitchat. “I’ll let you cool down a little,” Greta says, smiling widely, before pulling Hayley into an impromptu hug. “When you get famous,” she tells them seriously when she pulls away, “you had better help me meet Stella McCartney, okay?” 

“Sure,” Hayley laughs, and Greta beams, nudging them in the ribs before leaving to talk to Ian and the rest of Brendon’s band where they’re still packing up their equipment on the stage with Ray’s help. It’s only as they’re looking around for something to eat – their blood sugar levels feel as though they’ve dropped to almost zero from the exhaustion of the show – that they spot an unlikely guest reclining against the refreshments table. 

“Hayley!” Pete Wentz cries when he sees them, smiling and gesturing for them to come over. 

“Shouldn’t you be at your show right now?” Hayley asks, and Pete laughs in a way that doesn’t sound entirely fake. 

“They moved mine back by ten minutes, which we all know means more like half an hour in fashion talk. I thought I’d take the time to check out a couple of my arch enemies.” Pete raises an eyebrow conspiratorially and Hayley accepts it, grinning back at her as they share the joke. 

“Well, thank you. I appreciate you being here – honestly, I don’t understand why so many people showed up!” 

Pete smirks, and glances around conspiratorially. “I think you might have your friend Mx. Saporta to thank for that one. From what I hear, vir latest blog posts about you have made you the talking point of the week.” 

Hayley’s eyes widen as they realise what Pete just said, and they shake their head a little in surprise. “That sneaky bastard...” 

“Yes, well,” Pete says, checking her watch (which Hayley would put in the price range of at least 1000 dollars). “I’m afraid my own clothing line calls me. But I don’t doubt I’ll be seeing you again soon, Hayley. Fashion needs more people like you.” He smiles as he walks away, and Hayley nods, trying to hide their shock 

“Hey,” Gabe says, sidling up to them and holding a glass of water out towards Hayley, who accepts it gratefully, “was that Pete Wentz?” Hayley nods, gulping down the drink and trying not to scream at the exhilaration still coursing through their body. Gabe shakes vir head and whistles softly under vir breath. “Well, wonders will never cease.” 

“Talking of which,” adds Vicky, appearing beside Hayley with a slightly evil looking smile, “check out the lovebirds in the corner.” 

Three pairs of eyes turn to where Ryan and Brendon are half hidden behind one of the curtains, curled up into each other, so close it looks like they’re almost trying to climb inside each other’s skin. Brendon’s hands clutch at Ryan’s waist, and Ryan doesn’t even seem to mind when he reaches up to bury one in her hair, just smiles and pulls him closer. 

“Ew,” Hayley scrunches up their face, even though they’re secretly incredibly pleased for the two of them. “I have to work here!” 

Gabe cackles and Vicky smirks before her attention is captured by an old industry friend from across the room. 

“Hey,” she says, looking down at Hayley with a serious expression. “Well done on the show today, kid. It takes a lot of guts to pull something like this off. I’m proud of you.” 

Hayley smiles, and blushes just a little. “Thanks,” they mutter, and let Vicky ruffle their hair before stealing Gabe’s glass of champagne and wandering off. “Thank you, as well,” Hayley says, looking up at Gabe and trying their best to look serious when part of them still wants to grin like an idiot. “For what you put on your site, I mean. I, er, I thought you didn’t do free publicity?” 

“I don’t,” Gabe tells them. “I simply happened to mention that a good friend and exceptionally talented designer happened to be launching their new label today, and it would almost definitely be worth checking out.” Hayley scans vir face, waiting for the wink or the raised eyebrow, but Gabe’s voice is serious. “Your designs are amazing Hayley. You deserved an audience who could see that.” 

Hayley feels suddenly a little choked up, and they’re about to say more – to tell Gabe how much ve and the rest of their team mean to them, that they couldn’t ever have done this without them all – but before they can do so their eye is caught by the sight of Jeremy walking towards them, beaming with pride and accompanied by... 

“Mom!” Hayley cries, running over to their mother and enveloping her in a crushing hug. The last two months have been so busy that they’ve barely had time to be homesick, but now that their mom is right there it hits them just how much they’ve missed her. 

Both their eyes are a little damp when they pull away, and Hayley laughs a little under their breath, a grin stretching so wide across their face it almost hurts. 

“I’m so proud of you, Hayley,” their mother says, wiping at her eyes and looking at Hayley like they are someone new, someone different from the giddy, uncertain teenager who left for New York at the beginning of the summer. “I never thought – I mean, I knew you had talent, I never doubted you could make it out here, though God knows I had my worries about it, but you’ve outdone yourself, honestly.” 

Hayley’s chest feels like it’s about to burst with pride, their heart beating large and loud inside it. “Mom,” they say as they spot the Way siblings strolling towards them, Gerard beaming and bouncing on their feet while Mikey shoots them a wave and a half-smile. “I want you to meet my team.” 

// 

Christie pretty much falls in love with Spence instantly, which was expected, and after five minutes Hayley is pretty sure she wants to adopt Ian. Haley watches their team laugh and interact together with a fierce sense of pride, and they don’t even jump when they feel a familiar arm wrap around their shoulders. 

“What do you think, Jerm?” Hayley asks, leaning their head on Jeremy’s shoulder and watching Billie play with Ryan’s scarf to make her blush. “You reckon we pulled it off?” Jeremy nods and Hayley knows he’s smiling even without looking. 

“You did good, kiddo,” he mutters, and Hayley grins because, yeah, they did. 

“Next year,” they tell him, “we’re going to Paris.” 

Jeremy laughs. 

_The end_

**Author's Note:**

> thanks again to everyone who told me i wasn't crazy for writing 11,000 words of fashion au gen. these are the identities and pronouns of every character in the fic, which hopefully should be useful
> 
> hayley - agender - they/them  
> jeremy - (cis) boy - he/him  
> william/billie - genderfluid - xe/xem/xyr  
> spence - (trans) girl - she/her  
> ryan - demigirl - she/her  
> mikey - agender - xe/xem/xyr  
> vicky - (trans) girl - she/her  
> brendon - (trans) boy - he/him  
> ian - demiboy - he/him  
> greta - (cis) girl - she/her  
> gabe - nonbinary - ve/vem/vir  
> gerard - genderqueer - they/them  
> ray - (cis) boy - he/him  
> pete - bigender - he/her


End file.
